Neal banged on the drawer of the cash register, and it flew open. He scooped out a handful of coins. Graham stared down at the money, then nervously glanced through the window. “Won’t he mind?”
“He owes my daddy too many favors to mind. Don’t worry about it. What’ll you have to drink?”
Graham looked for something familiar among the rows of bottle caps. “Do they have Dr. Pepper?”
“Dr. Pepper? Doesn’t look like it. Grapette, Orange Nehi, Big Red, and Chocolate Soldier.”
“Chocolate Soldier? What’s that?”
“Are you telling me that you’ve reached the ripe old age of fourteen without ever drinking a Chocolate Soldier?”
Neal’s incredulity made Graham feel gauche, yet self-defensive. “In New York we drank egg cremes. You buy them from street vendors.”
Neal pushed two quarters into the money slot. “Egg creme? Now if that doesn’t sound like something a Yankee would drink, I’ll pay for lying.”
The Chocolate Soldier was delicious. Mr. Patchett offered to treat him to another, but he declined. He was worried about the time. “How much longer do you think it’ll be before the flat is fixed?”
“Looks like he’s finishing up now.” Neal opened the door for him and they moved into the service bay.
Graham was relieved that they would soon be on their way. “I’m supposed to be there by now. If I’m late, my mom gets mad.”
“Well,” Neal drawled, “you know how women are. They get their panties in a wad over the least little thing.” Companionably, he clapped Graham on the shoulder.
* * *
“Stop giving me the same tired excuses you give your other clients.” Jade smiled into the telephone receiver. “When will you have something to show me?”
“You should know better than to pressure an artist,” Hank Arnett said. “Pressure stifles creativity.”
“When? I don’t want to take the proposal to our friend George until I can bowl him over with your drawings.”
Jade’s plans to buy the plantation house for GSS were still in place. Hours had been spent on long-distance phone calls to Hank. He had liked the idea from the outset, but said he couldn’t commit himself until he saw pictures of what he had to work with. Jade had made arrangements with the realtor to get inside the house. The Polaroids she had taken were currently with Hank. He claimed to be toying with some ideas. She was impatient to see them.
“In all modesty, a few of my watercolors would be a persuasive bonus,” he conceded. “As you know, George is crazy about my stuff.”
“So get off your duff and do them.”
“Give me two more weeks.”
“Ten days.”
“You nag worse than Deidre,” he complained.
“Your wife is no less than an angel. Speaking of which, how are my twin goddaughters?”
Dillon came into her office just as she was hanging up the telephone. “You look happy.”
“I was talking to Hank.”
“Does he always make you smile like that?” he asked sourly.
“Sometimes.”
He harrumphed sarcastically. He’d been in a foul mood ever since the torrential rains, which had turned the construction site into a hazardous quagmire. Dillon had finally relented and called a stop to the excavation until the weather cooperated and the ground dried out.
The delay had created an understandable glitch in his schedule. He was the only one who considered that unacceptable and was now driving himself and everyone else to the limit to make up for the lost time. He smiled even less frequently than before. Today, his disposition was especially truculent.